Though the green grass and undiluted sunlight call my name, my pale (pasty, really) Irish skin has never been one for much exposure and my tolerance for heat -- 85 degree heat, that is, in very early May -- and I find myself retreating to the cool, air conditioned safety of the library.
I love reading days, even when the determination to study is tempted by beautiful weather and more free time than I've had in months. I love the peaceful anonymity found deep in the dark corners of the library. So there I was, again.
Except, apparently, many people had this plan as well.
It was crowded, to say the least. Before I knew it, I found myself on the sixth floor, seeking solace deep in the stacks which still held people. I found myself at one of only a handful of empty desks in the library -- yet still isolated and more or less out of sight, which is really how I'm best off if I have to study.
Words were read, pages were turned -- I think notes may even have been taken, but I'm not sure the words "study" or "comprehend" can quite be applied. I'm not sure.
My problem is partly that I get so easily distracted. I look up and read the comments scratched into the desktop and bookshelf nearby.
"I miss sex :("
"I miss sex and good food!"
"I miss fine girls, but we'll always have Penn...
Not exactly fasincating, or even really witty stuff (although someone had drawn a rather amusing penis cartoon to accompany the drawings) but I was bored. I continued to look for more quasi-graffiti.
"Carra and Jeff 12/12/86" and then beside it, "Are you still together? 12-10-90"
Carra (or was it Jeff?) never replied, so I suppose we'll never know. Why I care, I don't know, but I always notice when people scratch weird things like random intials and dates into places. I find myself staring, daily at the graffiti scratched into the third shower stall in the bathroom, proclaiming "Grand Master Greg, SAE, Peace out fo' tha 9-7" and "1996: Representin' on the East Coast, Maintainin' game on th' West"
You'd have to be pretty lame, I think, to include punctuation like apostrophes and to call yourself the "Grand Master Greg" in your freaking freshman dorm shower stall, but hey. Welcome to my school.
I think it's this strange, nostaglic, sentimental side in me that pays attention to things as stupid as what some kid scratched onto his shower stall wall five years ago. I don't know. I always wonder who they were and what they were thinking, and if I wrote anything, would anybody I know see it later?
Probably not, and probably anything I would think to write would be pretty lame, and nobody really wants national monuments defaced with "Caroline wuz here 6/2/00" but I don't know.
Anyway, peace out, yo.
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